


Singing the Lord's song in a strange land

by Nary



Category: Bottom of the River - Delta Rae (Song)
Genre: Childbirth, Drowning, Lovecraftian, Motherhood, Mythology References, POV First Person, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rivers, Slavery, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say a baby born with a caul can go between worlds, can conjure spirits, can never be drowned.  They say it's good luck, too, but that part I don't believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singing the Lord's song in a strange land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/gifts).



I never wanted a child. 

He's a strong, strapping boy, my son, with red hair and freckles spread across the bridge of his nose like constellations in the night sky. Big for his age, been big since he was born and almost killed me with his shoulders. 

I went to Mama Dawn, the midwife, when my monthly courses stopped, and asked her to give me something to bring it away. All the girls who weren't married, and some who were, whispered that she knew what herbs and spells would get rid of a baby that you didn't want, or that was coming at the wrong time. I brought her windfall apples from the orchard as payment. She swung a holed stone over my belly and shook her head. No, this one she couldn't rid me of. Too far gone, too strong. It'd like as not kill me - though he did his best at that anyway.

He looks like his father, especially around the eyes. 

The old woman did say one other thing, mumbling and toothless so I had to ask her to say it twice. She said my baby would grow up stronger than his daddy. That scared me more than the thought of giving birth did, because strong doesn't have to mean good. Strong takes what it wants.

When the morning breaks, they're coming to take him.

I hid my belly all through that summer, hard though it was on the hottest days when all I wanted was to strip to my shift and wade in the cool water where the river bends toward the sea, where our mother used to take us on the Sabbath and sing the old songs. But I kept my head bowed and did my work, mending the nets and cleaning fish, and none of the overseers paid enough attention to see that I was getting round under my apron. My sisters noticed, but they knew better than to ask me about it.

I gave birth to him on a full moon night, biting down on a leather strop to keep from screaming. By then Mama Dawn was dead of the fever, and the baby got stuck on the way down. My sisters helped how they could, but in the end I had to reach down and pull him out myself. Something tore free inside me and my hands were red in the moonlight. He had the caul on his face still, fine like bloody lace covering his eyes and mouth.

They say a baby born with a caul can go between worlds, can conjure spirits, can never be drowned. They say it's good luck, too, but that part I don't believe.

I only remember giving him his name before I fainted. Benoni, son of my sorrow, like they tell in the good book. I thought I was going to die for certain, but somehow I didn't. My sisters told me later in hushed whispers that I spoke in tongues when I lay there like the dead. They kept me cool with wet sponges. And they kept the caul safe, for it held his fortune.

They want me to say who his daddy was, I know. But what difference will it make? It could have been the Devil himself for all the good it does me now.

Ben suckled hard, always hungry for more than I could give. I felt like my body was withering away, empty and drained. I'd look at his face and wonder, how can you love something so much and hate it at the same time? His little body hung heavy in my wrap when I carried him, dragging down at me like an anchor, making me slow, making me foolish.

I wasn't so foolish as to think I could keep him hidden forever, though. My sisters sang at night to cover the sounds of his cries, or beat the drums, or lied and said it was a cat yowling. But he grew bigger, and I couldn't keep him tied to my hip or muffle his cries with my breast forever. 

Sometimes there are no cries to hide. Sometimes I wake at night and find him lying beside me, just staring at me with those too-old eyes. 

Of course the overseers found him. He was big enough to toddle by then, not talking yet - he wouldn't talk for a long while - but big enough to wander away from my side. He walked out in front of one man's horse, and the fellow paused long enough to realize he hadn't seen this child before. And a child of ours is pure profit for them.

They wouldn't take him until he was weaned, until he was old enough to survive without me. They looked at his pale skin and green eyes and said he must be the son of one of the sailors who put in at the wharves, or maybe one of the owner's sons had come looking for a bit of fun. I didn't answer, and they laughed that I must be quite the slut, not to know my own boy's father.

I know him. But his name isn't for their mouths to speak. I teach it to my son when he's old enough to learn it, and we whisper it together, our secret.

They will give my son another name when they take him away. In the good book, Benoni became Benjamin, renamed by his father. My son's father has given him no name - perhaps doesn't even know that he exists.

If he knew, would he claim this child as his own? And if he did, would I be able to bear that pain any better than this one?

I slipped out of the sleeping quarters before dawn. I didn't even tell my sisters, in case they tried to beat the truth out of them later, so they could say in all honesty that they hadn't known what I planned. I told myself this was how it had to be - was always how it was going to be, ever since the time I went wading in the river and his daddy found me there. Ben didn't ask where we were going. He held onto my hand and kept quiet.

The watchdogs howled, and from across the river the coyotes answered them. The water was black and restless, and lapped at our feet like cold tongues once we pushed through the reeds. Ben looked up at me as I tucked up my skirts and said, "Where we goin', mama?"

"Hush," I whispered. "Just hold my hand."

The tide was coming in from the sea, and I could smell the salt on the air, mixed with the fresh water from the river. I knew that smell. We waded out as far as my waist, the mud sucking at my ankles. I picked Ben up when the water got too deep for him. Foolish, maybe - putting it off for another few steps.

I turned to face east, out to the sea - out far that way, somewhere, my mother had come from. The horizon was just starting to glow red. I told Ben, "Call your daddy's name," watched as he drew a lungful of air, and pushed him under the water before he could let it out.

He struggled, bubbles rising to the surface, but I knew that was good - that meant he was screaming, even if I couldn't hear it. Someone else would. I kept my faith strong and didn't falter, even as my arms ached with the effort of holding him under.

The waves rumbled all around me like thunder, and something touched my leg that wasn't a weed. "Take him," I begged, "please, take him!"

Ben grew still and heavy in my grasp. I knew he couldn't drown, though - not because of some silly caul, but because of who his father was. He was just becoming used to the water, that was all.

I felt clammy, fishscaled hands brush against mine as they took him from me. My heart was light because I knew Ben would be with them now. The overseers will say I drowned him rather than give him up. They'll punish me for it, like they would if I stole a chicken for dinner, but I won't hang for it. My son would be safe, under the water with his father and his father's kind. He would be free.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
